


Impossible Soldier

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, bbc - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, BDSM, Developing Relationship, Fantasy, First Time, Fluff, Gay, Johnlock - Freeform, Light BDSM, Little bit fluffy, M/M, Porn, Slash, Wing Kink, Wingfic, first fic please be kind, im sorry?, porn porn porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is set about seven years in the past, before Sherlock and John were flat mates When Sherlock meets John in Afghanistan he begins to feel things he didn't know he was capable of. But John has a secret... porn ensues. was going to do a full on plot but I'm not into it enough.</p><p>Contains quite a lot of Johnlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Dr John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock and John have not yet met. Set before John was shot, about seven years before they met in the original BBC universe. This is my first ever attempt at a fan fic so sorry about the sex scenes but I hope you enjoy it and be sure to leave me comments and let me know what you think! :)

Sherlock sat glaring angrily at the wall opposite him, his large hands forming a steeple shape below his chin, his elbows resting on his knees deep in thought. What had Mycroft got planned for him? He said it was different to the usual cases, which in itself was odd as there wasn’t really a usual. Must be really out of the ordinary then. Out of London, definitely. Out of the country, quite possibly. He was irritated that for once he couldn’t properly deduce one of Mycroft’s usually obvious schemes. He frowned and thought harder. He had sounded very serious, even more so than usual, he had approached Sherlock with a great amount of caution. Must be very important then, he must really need Sherlock. Perhaps something to do with the- his rambling deductions were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. He stood up and crossed the small, dirty flat, expertly weaving through the remains of the various experiments that littered the floor with long legs.  
“Ah Mycroft”, drawled Sherlock, instantly adopting a haughty air of indifference. It wouldn’t do to let Mycroft know he cared.  
“Sherlock. May I come in?” Mycroft wrinkled his nose in evident displeasure as he peered round Sherlock and looked at the state of the flat.  
Sherlock spun on his heels and picked his way back through the clutter and flung himself onto the sofa, the tie of his dressing gown trailing behind him. Sighing with irritation the elder brother took it as an invitation and followed suit, settling himself into a chair opposite Sherlock.  
“Sherlock I want you to go to Afghanistan.”  
Sherlock eyes, who had adopted foetal position on the sofa with his eyes closed, flew open, light iris’s puzzled.  
“What? Why? Why Afghanistan?”  
“There are rumours of a massive terrorist plot, another nine-eleven if you will, and it really needs to be looked into, thoroughly. You’re the best man for the job.”  
Flattery. Mycroft really must be desperate.  
“There is an army base, front line, we suspect we may have a mole and that is where I would like you to start. Only one man on the base will know your real purpose and will do his best to assist you.”  
“Are you certain he’s trustworthy, the assistant?”  
“Definite.”  
“Fine I’ll do it. Leave the file on the table.”  
With that Sherlock turned his back to Mycroft, lay down on the sofa, drew his dressing gown closer to his body and reassumed the foetal position. Smirking Mycroft placed the file on the table and strode from the dingy flat. No sooner had Mycroft left Sherlock was off the sofa jumping up and down, ecstatic. This, this was going to be fun.

A week later Sherlock was in Afghanistan, striding across the hot, pungent tarmac of the army bases private runway towards a lone figure which he assumed must be his assistant. Gritting his teeth and preparing himself to hate whatever idiot Mycroft had assigned to be his glorified bodyguard, he adjusted the straps of the custom issue army rucksack on his back and came to a halt before the man. He looked up and was surprised to find himself absorbed in kind, dark blue eyes which flickered with a kind of dark fire that intrigued Sherlock. He was a lot shorter than him, although powerfully built, with short golden-bronze hair just visible under his army helmet. He was wearing a lot of clothes considering the heat, but he wasn’t even sweating, unlike himself who was rapidly realising the decision to wear a suit had been a terrible one. Tan said been here a while, hands said doctor.  
“Dr Watson I presume?” It had taken him all of a second for him to collect almost all the information he needed to know about the doctor, but he was confused, he still wanted to know more.  
“Mr Holmes. Call me John.” His smile was warm and genuine, white teeth contrasting with his tanned skin.  
They shook hands, Johns hand was smooth, his grip strong as Sherlock’s large sweaty hand engulfed his smaller one.  
“Please, call me Sherlock.”  
Something melted slightly inside of Sherlock as John flashed him another small, dazzling smile and began to lead him across the tarmac to a small bunker, which shimmered and distorted in the heat haze. He tried to figure out what he had felt as he followed John. Surely he wasn’t attracted to him?  
John face was set in an expression somewhere between wonder and horror as he lead Sherlock towards the bunker. There really was no other word for the man other than beautiful. He was tall and pale, ethereal looking with light, bright eyes that burned with intelligence and dark curls that flopped, unruly on his forehead. It would not do to fancy him it really wouldn’t. Besides he thought sadly, it’s not like anything ever would or could happen between them. He forced all lustful thoughts from his mind as they reached the bunker and he began to introduce Sherlock to his world. 

A month later and John and Sherlock had a strong, if a bit awkward friendship. They had been moved to another, smaller complex closer to the front line and were now established within the platoon of soldiers stationed there. It was time to start the investigation.  
It was the middle of the night and Sherlock lay awake on his roll mat in the tent that he and john shared, staring intently at the other man’s sleeping face, marvelling at the peace displayed there and wrestling with his feelings towards him. There was no doubt in his mind now that he was severely attracted to John. He had suspected he was homosexual before but had never really given it much thought or really cared as, after all, the body was just transport. But no one had made him feel like this before. John said brilliant to his deductions and had yet to be properly angry with him. He had tested his calm demeanour a couple of times but the worst he had got out of him was moderately grumpy. Sherlock sighed with frustration. Johns face looked serene, almost angelic. Damn him for making him want him so much. What should he do? He turned over onto his back and fell into a troubled sleep. As soon as his breathing slowed, dark blue eyes glittered in the semi-darkness as John gazed at Sherlock with longing, awe and a small sad smile. Before himself drifting off into a troubled sleep.

When Sherlock awoke the next day he abruptly decided he would pursue his feelings for John. It would be ridiculous not too. He just really hoped that his doing so would not compromise the case or his and John’s friendship. It was odd, he realised as he sat up on his roll matt and pushed off his mosquito net to go to the showers, that John never showered with the other men. He obviously must shower at some point but Sherlock had never noticed him go for one. He had always brushed it off and assumed that John just wanted privacy but then why go to such an effort to conceal when he went?  
“John I’m going to the showers are you coming?”  
John, who was sat on a stool at the tiny table that Sherlock had insisted they had was writing feverishly on a piece of paper.  
“Not now I’m writing a letter to Harry.”  
Most mysterious. Sherlock himself hated going to the showers because of the predatory glances the other men often cast his way but he just did it because he had to. John must really hate it to go to such great lengths to avoid it.

Sherlock didn’t flirt with John, he was very inexperienced at such matters and attempting to do so would have only resulted in failure, so he just went for it. The opportunity arose a couple of days later. He and John had been following one of the soldiers suspected of being the mole and were lying side by side in a deep ditch in the dust watching an exchange between him and an unknown man. After a couple of minutes Sherlock concluded the man was only purchasing cannabis and not the mole. As they turned to get up and leave Sherlock found his face inches from Johns. They both froze and John began to laugh, an infectious sound that soon had Sherlock giggling in his deep, baritone voice. John was laughing even harder now that Sherlock was laughing and had his head flung back and his eyes closed. Sherlock watched mesmerised. The curve of his neck, his collarbones startling white from lack of sun. He leaned in and kissed him, a large hand gently cupping his face. Eyes the colour of the ocean opened wide in surprise and John stiffened in shock. Not doing anything to stop the kiss but neither was he kissing him back.  
John let Sherlock kiss him for a second, confused beyond belief but blissfully happy at the same time. He had never thought for a second that Sherlock felt anything like this for him, never anticipated it. He lifted a bronze hand to the beautiful man’s pale a face, stroking his cheekbone and admiring the contrast, before giving in to the warmth and pressure of Sherlock’s mouth, closing his eyes and kissing him back passionately. The sensation was glorious. Sherlock’s tongue invaded his mouth, exploring, eagerly licking his teeth and just tasting. He was completely lost in the moment, in Sherlock, and then he remembered. He couldn’t, this could never amount to anything. Abruptly he broke the kiss and shuffled a couple of feet away from Sherlock, his normally strong face cracking with sadness. Tears swam in the ocean.  
“John what’s wrong?” asked Sherlock, he was the very personification of confusion, a very rare thing for him. He looked shocked and hurt. It tore John up inside.  
“I’m sorry Sherlock I can’t.” Choked John.  
“But I don’t understand, why?”  
“If you knew everything about me I doubt you would still like me.” John concentrated on the unnaturally blue sky trying to pull himself together while tears threatened to overspill his lids. He blinked rapidly until they dissipated and returned his gaze to Sherlock.  
“I know enough, and I like what I know.” Said Sherlock, confusion still written on his face. “Don’t you like me?"  
“I do like you,” said John hurriedly, “ I really do but I’m really sorry I can’t be with you. I think it would be better if we remained friends.” With that John stood up and left marching briskly towards the direction of their tent. When he thought Sherlock was no longer watching he raised his hand and wiped his eyes. Why did it have to be this way?

Why did it have to be this way? Sherlock had never been this confused in all of his twenty-eight years of life. Dr John Watson was a mystery wrapped up in an enigma that was for sure. He was sad and hurt as he watched him walk away, little puffs of dust trailing behind him. Why had John stopped? It was obvious he had feelings for him, he had admitted it himself, and he knew that John wasn’t homophobic, he was too morally correct for that. What was stopping him then because something clearly was. Was it Mycroft? Did he have a girlfriend or boyfriend back in England? Unlikely due to the amount of time which he had been over here but possible. Glancing at where John had been sat he noticed he had left his helmet behind. He picked it up and stared intently at it, falling into a trance in which he travelled to a world of ideas and deductions in an attempt to suss out John Watson.  
Four hours later he came back to reality with a jerk and a sharp intake of breath realising it was late. The sky was darkening, John must be wondering where he was yet he was no closer to figuring out what had happened. Sighing he decided the best place to start was probably to find out when on earth John went to the shower, because he definitely had a secret and Sherlock was determined to find out because if it was the barrier between them he would rip it down.  
It was an hours walk back to the camp and pitch black by the time he arrived. When Sherlock entered the tent he could tell John was pretending to be asleep. Sighing he placed Johns helmet at the bottom of his bed on a pile of neatly folded extra sheets. He was like that. Everything about him was so neat, orderly and god damn perfect. Even the sheets covering him were perfectly straight. Sherlock got changed and clambered in to bed closed his eyes, made his breathing slow and heavy and prepared to wait.


	2. Tears swim in the ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please bare in mind that I have never written anything remotely like a sex scene before! thank you I hope you enjoy.

He had to wait a long time but finally John stirred. Sherlock opened his eyes a fraction and peered through long lashes at the figure the other side of the tent, careful to maintain his even breathing and watched as John sat up in bed, picked up a bag of shower stuff and a towel and quietly exited the tent.  
Quickly and as quietly as he could Sherlock jumped to his feet, unzipped the tent and followed John out into the night. Where had he gone? Spotting John slipping through the shadows towards the shower blocks about a hundred metres or so in front of him he followed suit. Sherlock watched from a distance as John entered the shower block, battling with his newly found conscience. John obviously went to great lengths to protect his privacy and maybe he should just leave and respect that. But no. something bigger was clearly going on and Sherlock just had to find out. He ran to the door and slipped inside as quietly as possible. He looked around. John’s clothes and towel were neatly folded on the bench opposite. The sound of running water could be heard from the shower room and steam trickled out from underneath the door. Bracing himself for whatever John had to say about his intrusion Sherlock walked over and stepped inside.  
He could vaguely make out Johns outline on the far side of the steamy room. The mist cleared a bit as John stepped away from the shower button to get some soap. Suddenly the room was deathly quiet and Sherlock’s shocked gasp all too audible. John had wings. They were a beautiful golden-bronze-brown, the same colour as Johns hair and were folded loosely on his back. John span around, his dark blue eyes full of shock and fear as he saw Sherlock stood across the room from him. Shaking he backed too quickly into the wall behind him and tripping over his own feet slid down the wet tiles, attempting to hide his wings.  
In a very backwards way it all made sense now. Why John always wore so many clothes, why John was never physically showed affection, why John never showered with the others, why John had said he couldn’t be with him. It wouldn’t take anyone long in a relationship with him to stumble across his secret. Poor John. He must have been so isolated his whole life. Never able to go swimming with the other children, to do so much. Sherlock had never done any of that anyway but John was the type of person would really suffer from seclusion. Sherlock walked silently and slowly towards John trying to think of something to say. John shuffled away from him like a frightened animal and into the furthest corner and drew his knees to his chest, trying in vain to press himself closer to the wall. He was so open, so vulnerable, so beautiful. His soul laid out for Sherlock to see. Sherlock towered above John for a moment before kneeling down and pulling him to his feet and into a warm, understanding embrace. His head was spinning with the impossibility of it all, of John, the scientist in him thoroughly intrigued. He would ask questions later. For now he just needed to be comforted. He stiffened in shock like when he had kissed him but Sherlock continued to hold him, willing John to allow the contact. It took about a minute for him to recover and Sherlock let out a sigh of relief when his head finally sank into his chest, and his small, wet, muscular body leaned into his. Cautiously Sherlock began to gently stroke his sodden wings and straighten out any wonky feathers with careful hands. He was rewarded with a small, muffled, happy laugh from John. He looked down at him in the same instance John looked up. His expression was one of daring hope, incredulity and pure joy, the same emotions that thrummed through Sherlock’s entire being. He leant down and kissed him, their mouths meshing together in such a delightful way that there could be no mistaking the fact they were made for each other. 

They tasted and teased, licked and discovered, the responses of their body’s so overwhelming and frightening. Electric impulses flickered across synapses, requesting more, demanding. Suddenly and cheekily, John gently bit Sherlock’s bottom lip, tugging, eliciting a small moan and closed eyes from Sherlock. 

The only warning John got was the demonic blaze of ice fire in Sherlock’s eyes, his pupils large enough to drown the sun, before he was slammed roughly and passionately against the wall. Sherlock arms stretching above his head and pinning his wrists there with one of his large strong hands. Upon realising he was going to make contact with the wall John had fanned his wings out behind him so they didn’t get damaged on impact. Sherlock gazed at them now, gazed at John, trying to absorb and savour the perfectness of him in the moment. He wanted to memorise every inch of him, every scar, wanted to love him and mark him as his own.  
John suddenly felt self-conscious. He had temporarily forgotten about his nudity in the dizzying realisation that Sherlock didn’t care the he had wings, but it came back now, heat flooding his cheeks as Sherlock continued to scrutinise every inch of him. He felt like one of his lab experiments, a specimen under observation. He gazed intently at Sherlock’s face enraptured by his beauty, just as Sherlock was by him. With his free hand Sherlock combed his fingers through John undecidedly coloured hair and trailed them down the side of his face, along his neck where they preceded to stroke the smooth planes of his chest and along his toned abdomen where it slid to the side and continued south to give his left buttock a firm squeeze. John gasped with surprise and pleasure. He was half-hard now and his eyes were nearly black from arousal. No one had ever touched him like this before. Sherlock was still completely clothed and John whined with frustration as he attempted to get his hands free to fix that. Sherlock sensed what he was trying to do and smiled slyly, tightening his grip on Johns wrist as he began to undress himself with his free hand, unbuttoning his shirt painfully slowly. When it was finally done Sherlock shrugged it off his free arm and quickly swapped the hand that was pinning John to the wall so he could to the same for the other. He tossed the shirt away revealing skinny, lightly toned torso the colour of cut ice. He swapped his hands again and Johns breathing hitched and he began to undo his belt and slid it out from his trousers. He wriggled as Sherlock used it to secure his wrists to a pipe above his head, not really trying to escape. Suddenly Sherlock stopped, the fire in his eyes flicking slightly, his beautiful face creasing with worry.  
“Are you okay John?” Sherlock asked, worried that in his lustful, hormone induced state that he might be taking it too far.  
“Oh God yes.” Breathed John, dark blue fire roaring in his eyes, his cock now fully erect.  
Sherlock leaned in and gave him a quick, lingering kiss before stepping back from him and taking his trousers and pants off revealing his own fully erect dick.  
“Now shall we do what you came here to do now?” rumbled Sherlock, turning the Shower on so that delightfully warm water cascaded over Johns face, body and some of his wings. Sherlock leaned in and pressed his body as close to John as he could, joining him in the shower. The touch of bare skin on skin was electric and intoxicating. John curled his golden wings around Sherlock just as he reached down between them and grasped both of their dicks in his hand and began stroking his hand up and down both of their shafts, faster and faster. John moaned and arched his body into Sherlock in pleasure, writhing in delight. Just as he thought he was about to come he stopped. John groaned in annoyance and frustration. It didn’t last as his expression turned from one of longing to one of disbelief in a matter of seconds as Sherlock followed the water downwards, leaving kisses at regular intervals on his body and disappeared beneath Johns wings. John unfurled his wings just in time to see half his cock disappear into Sherlock’s heart shaped mouth. John arched his body to meet them his wings hanging limply by his sides, eyes closed in bliss, moaning with pleasure as Sherlock took the rest of him in his mouth and down his throat. Sherlock pulled off, grinned at John and took him back in again, bobbing quickly up and down his cock, licking and sucking as if he had done it before a hundred times, his dark curls plastered to his head by the hot water. The sight of his beautiful face pleasuring him like that was too much for John and he shouted a warning to Sherlock so he could get off in time. Sherlock instead did the exact opposite and took him as deep as he possibly could as John spurted his hot semen deep down his throat. He looked up at him, light eyes twinkling as he swallowed and sucked a few times to milk the last of the come from his cock before sliding off with a wet plop.

His orgasm had been earth shattering and John could no longer support he own weight as he hung limply from the pipe with his eyes closed in post orgasmic bliss, every muscle in his body was relaxed and for the first time in what felt like forever he felt complete and happy.

Sherlock placed a hand on Johns shoulder as he began to wank himself off. John opened his eyes and, realising what he was doing felt incredibly selfish. Here he was all happy and satisfied and Sherlock was still waiting on his own release.  
“Lemme, lemme down and I will help you?” offered John weakly.  
Sherlock raised his hand to his face and placed a finger on Johns lip silencing him. He gripped Johns waist tightly as he came on Johns stomach with a loud gasp. He leaned into him for a second before turning round and locating Johns wash bag. Gently Sherlock ran his hands over his limp body, covering him with soap, lifting him off the wall to reach his lower back and between his wings and then washing it away again, making sure John was completely clean. He then turned the shower off and worked the shampoo into Johns golden hair. Turning the shower on again he instructed John to close his eyes tightly as he rinsed his hair clean. No stubble was on Johns face so no need to shave. Sherlock turned the shower off and untied John who collapsed in a happy heap of limbs, soft, clean skin and feathers into his arms. 

Sherlock took John to the changing room and gently towelled him dry before carefully dressing him. He didn’t bother putting on his own soggy clothes and wrapped himself up in Johns towel instead. Feeling contented he picked up a semi conscious John and started back towards their tent. John was surprisingly light, mused Sherlock. It only made sense he guessed, as John had wings it was fitting that the rest of his body was adapted for flight too.


	3. An Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COITUS! Please don't judge me I'm sorry if this isn't that good I have never written a sex scene before. As always though opinions are welcome please leave a comment with your thoughts if you want to. :)

By the time he got to the tent John was fast asleep, a small happy smile on his face. Carefully Sherlock tucked him in to his neat bed, making sure he was lying in a position that wouldn’t squash his wings, before himself climbing into bed. Sherlock Holmes was the happiest he had ever been in his life. He had gone from having neither a friend nor a lover to having both in about a month. That they should both take the form of someone as unique, interesting and kind as John was an added blessing. Grinning happily he fell into a deep and contented sleep.

When he awoke in the morning John was just getting dressed. Normally, for reasons that were now extremely apparent, John was dressed well before he woke up. Sherlock frowned up at John.

“What are you doing?”

John was stood in his boxers and was putting on something that resembled a harness, the sort you might use for climbing accept it was thinner and less bulky with nowhere to attach ropes too. John jumped and a rush of blood coloured his tanned cheeks.

“I um, I have to wear this, to, you know, squash my wings down a bit.” said John. He wasn’t meeting Sherlock’s gaze and was obviously tremendously embarrassed. 

“Oh, yes of course.” Said Sherlock awkwardly, inwardly berating himself for even asking. Obviously the inability to grasp the finer points of human nature hadn’t changed about him even if most everything else had.  
John continued to get dressed as Sherlock watched, fascinated, trying to deduce more about him. John was having trouble putting on the wing harness thing.

“Do you need some help?” 

“Yes please, that would be great” grunted John as he attempted to untangle his arm.

Standing up quickly Sherlock detached his lithe body from his bed and detangled Johns arm with ease and pulled the harness up over his shoulders, tucking his wings carefully underneath. Johns small, muscular body shivered as Sherlock’s cool fingertips brushed his skin lightly in between his wings. Sherlock turned him round so as to do up the buckle on the front. Sherlock was concentrating and so did not notice the hungry way in which John was looking at him until he lunged, and the both tumbled to the floor in a tangled pile of limbs and hot, passionate kisses. Tongues intertwined and the sensation of skin on bare skin was electric. They were both fully erect now. Grinning mischievously Sherlock rolled them both so John was on the bottom, his legs either side of the doctor, their groins touching through their boxers, his hands on the floor either side of his face. John started giggling, dark blue eyes gazing up at Sherlock in adoration. Sherlock swooped in, dark curls haloing his face as he kissed John passionately as he began to grind on him. John gasped with pleasure around the kiss and attempted to remove his harness at the same time so he could access his cock properly. Within seconds Sherlock had removed it again and they resumed grinding, both men gasping with each slight movement.

“I want you inside me Sherlock.” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he stopped grinding, looking down at John and scrutinising him intently. He was deadly serious, passion blazing in the black holes that were now his eyes. Sherlock felt himself get impossibly harder.

“I’ve never done it before.” He whispered, embarrassed. A pink tinge had appeared on his pale face.

“Me neither.” grinned John.

“You trust me?”

“With my life, there is lube in the left pocket of my bag.”

Sherlock needed no further encouragement. He stood up and fetched the lube, squeezing a generous amount on to his hand and coating his long fingers. He was nervous but he knew the technicalities of it and he suspected the rest would come naturally. Smiling he slowly drew John boxers off, gently lifting up his hips and sliding them down his legs. He spread John’s legs and took a deep breath, nervously glancing at John for confirmation and support. What he saw took his breath away. John’s wings were slightly spread out under his well-toned body, his golden bronze head thrown back with pleasure and anticipation, eyes closed. He was a vision. If there was such a thing as God then John was one of his angels. 

He swirled his finger around his hole, quickly slicking it before slowly pressing a long finger inside him. John gasped and squirmed. He slid in and out until John was loose enough and then added another finger, continuing to slowly pump in and out. Satisfied that he was sufficiently stretched Sherlock removed his fingers. John went very still as Sherlock lined his cock up to enter him, eyes clenching in pain as Sherlock’s large cock stretched his sphincter muscle, his small hand scrabbling for Sherlock’s larger one and holding on tight as he continued to slide in to him until his balls where resting on his arse. Sherlock groaned as John’s warm body surrounded him so tight and hot that Sherlock was surprised he didn’t just come on the spot. Suddenly John’s whole body contracted and arched as the tip of Sherlock’s cock brushed against his prostate. His eyes widened with as Sherlock drew out and thrust back in again, groaning in pleasure as he hit his prostate again. Sherlock slowly built up a rhythm until they were fucking hard and fast, both men covered in sweat and groaning in ecstasy. 

“Sherlock!” John shouted his name as he came. Sherlock followed quickly behind, emptying his load deep inside him, his whole body shuddering as he thrust a couple more time before collapsing on top of John. 

“That was incredible.” Exclaimed John breathlessly, gently stroking his lovers tangled raven curls.

Sherlock looked up at him grinning happily, his ethereal face tinged pink with exertion, unruly curls messier than usual.

“Yes, yes it was.”


End file.
